


Reforged under the stars

by Shirohime



Series: Lu and Mikey [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Torture, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 20:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18698380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirohime/pseuds/Shirohime
Summary: Prequel to part three of "Lu and Mikey"





	Reforged under the stars

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make much sense if you have not read the other one, yet I assume since it is a prequel, you could understand what's kinda going on. (the last part will probably just confuse u tho, just a note)

In the beginning, there was only the two of them. Forged in hellfire of human nature and carved by divine weapons blessed by the blasphemous.

Lucifer and Michael.  
The beginning and the end.  
Strung up on wooden poles, bleeding out their own blood onto the soaked ground, wearing nothing anymore but the grime of dust and sweat and dirt of their pain.

Neither remembers how long this has been going on.  
Neither remembers anything but the fire in their bones, reshaping, revolting, tearing at their humanity.

Their skin shiny and shivering, cold sweat from blood loss and pain drenching every inch of them.  
Pale under the moonlight the men give up on their once brethren.

They forsake all others, fueled only by the need to survive, to surpass their tormentors and rise. Rise like the stars at night.

A soft pained moan slips past Michael's lips, cracked as they are.  
His voice is hoarse, tasting of iron and despair, shredded by prior screaming.

Lucifer does not even have the energy to move his head to look at his brother, his twin, the only one.

Their fingertips are blue, as are their feet and lips and nose, bitten raw by the mild night breeze.

Their tormenters have left. For now. It is too dark to find enjoyment in the pain of their victims.

Lucifer wished he had the ability to remember their faces, their names. All he knows now is the burning rage fighting for his very life. And the bone nails carved from his brother's femurs that they drilled through his hands and feet.

Time becomes a nuisance when all you wish for is for the pain to end.  
Though Michael finds a sick pleasure in the consistency of it. The only consistency in these fucked up recent days, weeks, months, years?  
He does not know. Does not remember.

The blood drip drip drips.  
Come morning their tormentors will return, forcing more blood into them (holy blood they scream and sing, gleeful in the face of their victim's broken bodies), twisting their nails until all wounds re-open and check on their healing process.

Michael does not even know why they are doing this.  
Lucifer begs him not to ask.

  
Time passes, cruel as always, yet a blessing in itself.  
Michael's jaw aches, he's sure so does Lucifer's. Their wounds have been healing too quickly to be re-opened only once every twenty-four hours. Now they break their bones each noon and midnight and collect their screams like a child would free dessert.

The twins have given up struggling fully, longing for each other, the only one who could understand their nightmares and behavior.  
One of the tormentors splashed burning hot water over their heads last time their bones were broken, after seeing flies starting to eat the rotting, infected and dirty flesh.

They've become more subtle. Better at concealing when they feel refreshed, almost normal, usually right before noon and midnight.  
They've kept quiet.

There are fangs now in their mouths, teeth so sharp their tongues are cut up and raw all the time.  
They don't mind. They snarl at their tormentors to see the younger ones starting to flinch.

It fills their veins with satisfaction, the terror slowly growing in their tormentor's faces each day.

Lucifer laughed at them last night.  
They slit his throat and took his vocal chords.  
And forgot the routine bone breaking of Michael's.

That was their first mistake.

  
Insanity ate away at them. Mad fire extinguishing the exhaustion and weakness. Burning holes into their brains. If they even still had one, Michael was not sure.

  
He'd been forced to watch them cut out his own heart more than once.

He'd healed, of course. But a part of him was sure it never grew back.

  
Lucifer had gone pallid.  
Shaken by fever, new cells overwhelmed having to heal it over and over again as the dirt kept inflaming the cut on his throat.  
He didn't answer to Michael's demands.  
He didn't move.  
Not even when they broke his bones.  
And Michael snapped.

  
Fangs gleaming in the moonlight, Michael violently ripped his hands free of the bone nails, wounds healing almost instantly.   
With a beastly snarl, the elder twin was off, wiping out the entire camp in his fury, no matter if child or man or woman.   
He killed them all. Drank their blood and got high on it as his body rejuvenated with each litre of blood running down his esophagus.

His eyes were ablaze when he was met with only lethal silence.   
Nothing was alive anymore. The only thing standing being the pole his brother was nailed to, tents and bodies asunder around Michael.

His brother.

Lucifer.

The insanity in his mind got thrown into shackles as Michael stood, quietly, worriedly, and hurried over to his twin at inhuman speed.

Lucifer was breathing, though shallowly, but he had not even reacted to the havoc Michael had caused.   
The elder decided right there and then that Lucifer never needed to know.

Carefully, gently, Michael lifted his brother off.   
He weighed less than a feather to those new cells now harboring his body.

Slowly but visibly, the wounds on Lucifers hands and feet started to heal. But the wound at his throat kept busting open, filled with pus and stinking.

Michael growled, madness pushing forth in his worry.   
He lifted the blond man into his arms and carried him to the nearest river.

As soon as the water cleansed the wound, it closed. Healed and left nothing but the faintest of a scar.   
But Lucifer still didn't wake up.   
So Michael ripped open his left wrist (the pain was insignificant to him after all he had endured), and fed his brother his own blood - or rather, the blood he had gotten drunk on from their tormentors.

Lucifer's eyes flung open, crazed and glossed over, as he sunk his fangs into Michael's wrist, drinking until Michael growled and pushed him off, a warning snarl on his lips.

Lucifer gulped in the air, blinking as he sat up.

Michael's wound had already healed. The elder twin rasped out a hoarse "safe" into Lucifer's direction (the only word he could remember, other than his brother's name), before washing himself in the river as well.

 

They fought a lot once they had found refuge in the sandy caves in the desert surrounding Jerusalem, fought with all they had, knowing they couldn't kill each other.

Two predators, newly made, half mad from the torture they had gone through, unhinged at their base.

But they never hated each other.   
They fought to learn, to teach each other and become better, stronger, faster.   
So that nobody could ever catch them again.

Lucifer never asked why Michael refused to feed on anything but him.   
The primal look haunting his twin's eyes was enough answer.   
And Lucifer didn't mind. It had him feeling cherished and precious, in a twisted sort of way.   
Like he meant something.

  
They both swore to never interact with humanity again. Both terrified and disgusted by the ugly plague humans were.

Then some villagers found their cave.   
And burnt it all down, with the brothers inside.

After that, Lucifer started to glow first.   
Just a very faint outline around him, like the stars cradled him in their nonexistent hands.   
His features changed, he became perfection incarnated, not a pore visible on his skin, no beard growth at all anymore.   
Were it not for the century old ice cold eyes, he'd look almost boyish.

Michael followed suit, though less obvious.   
His eyes didn't lighten in color like Lucifer's did. He didn't glow.   
He burnt. And his eyes turnt into the color of a forest before a fire.

They traveled a lot. Rebuilding language was one of the hardest things to both of them. Civilization was intriguing to Lucifer, leading to arguments and fights between the twins - this time not for the sake of learning.

But Lucifer's rare and few in between visits into civilization also lead them to Gabriel.

Five hundred years had passed since the twins had been Made.   
Five hundred years of forgetting and repressing memories.

And then they found Gabriel and it was like no time had passed at all.

The setup of the camp was nearly identical, just a different place on this forsaken planet.

They found Gabriel nailed to a cross, kept in iron shackles and nearly unresponsive.

It had started a burning in Michael that both twins had long considered dormant.

The massacre that followed, courtesy of Michael alone, was the first time Lucifer saw his brother's savage side. Watched him rip out throats and not differentiate between friend and foe (if he had moved an inch, Lucifer was convinced Michael would have attacked him as well).

But afterwards he didn't judge.  
Just looked at Michael, nodded at him and kissed his forehead.

Together they took down Gabriel and left.

Raising him like they had raised themselves: from ashes and cinders into burning wildfires and crackling liquid nitrogen.

"Why did you safe me and not kill me if you despise what they did so much?", Gabriel had asked, only two years after they had rescued him.  
He still looked haunted, skittish and broken, but there was determination in the way he moved when they trained, so Michael knew he would be just as magnificent as them.

The elder twin had been about to shrug, because honestly, he didn't know why, when Lucifer had shot him a look and answered instead: "Because you are not them. You were not the one who did these things. You deserve to live."

  
Those words had stuck with Gabriel.

And now, nearly two thousand years later, all he felt when he saw his big brothers laughing quietly together in the glimmer of a campfire and sipping ancient wine, was gratitude and peace.  
He was glad they made him survive.

He was glad neither of them was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> If u made it this far, congrats. I've been told I couldn't have made it much more violent and I agree. That was the point.


End file.
